The Jukebox
by tyrannicpuppy
Summary: Stories based on songs. Will be fluffy, angsty, crazy, weird, and almost always AU. Rating may change as more are added.
1. Leave Your Shirt On

Written for the Harmony & Co Lyric Llama.

This fic was inspired by the lyrics "_Take it from me if you want a t-shirt to sleep in, it's my favourite but you can keep it. Looks good on you baby you should leave it hanging off your shoulders._", from the song, _Take It from Me_ by _Jordan Davis_. I claim no ownership of it, I only used it as inspiration.

* * *

Harry woke with a start, his heart racing in his chest as the last vestiges of the nightmare drained from his mind and left only the adrenaline.

The war was over for the world, but in his mind, it still raged night after night.

He looked to his left and saw that he hadn't woken Hermione tonight. It had been a thankfully tame one compared to some he'd had recently.

He swung his legs over the side and placed his head in his hands, panting gently as he tried to get his heart rate to slow. The chill of the night air stung his sweaty naked torso and a shiver ran through him.

As he opened his eyes, he saw a piece of white cotton jutting out from the chaos below Hermione's bed. He quickly picked it up and saw it was a large t-shirt, quickly donned it as he stepped to the door.

Harry glanced back at the bed and Hermione still seemed unaware of his absence, so he continued to the kitchen, quickly pouring himself a tall glass of milk and sitting at the small table.

People still came up to him and congratulated or thanked him. It was as though all those who had died had been completely forgotten by them. Only the victory remained, and he was the one who gave it to them. As if he had stood alone against the waves of Voldemort and brushed them all aside. It made him sick every time he thought of the ones who were gone _and forgotten_ by the world at large.

He shuddered and took another swig of the cool milk, which soothed his throat and soul as it descended. His heart rate was almost back to normal when he smelt it.

A small smile pulled at his lips as he felt her shoulder press against his own. He figured it had to be something left over from her short stint as a catgirl, but Hermione could move utterly silently when she chose to.

She said nothing as she sat in the other chair, her hand gently stroking his back as he drank again. Her very presence was more comforting than all the milk and cool air in the world, but he'd done it again. He'd run from their bed in fear and disgust with himself. The first time she had yelled. The second she quietly scolded. The third, she hugged. Now they just sat there in silence until he told her.

"The war. Nothing specific. Just faceless dead, those I failed to save."

A shadow passed over her face for a moment and he cringed. This had become routine a long time ago now. He would sit there feeling sorry for himself and blame himself for all the ills of the world. And she would sit there, comforting him until he realized that the weight of the world was not his to bare. That all that was bad in this world was not his fault. It was what truly comforted him.

The stroking stopped and he felt himself been pulled tighter against her. Her bosom pressing into his arm. No matter how many times she'd had to find him hiding in the kitchen, she never wavered in her love. She always helped him back. He turned to look at her face for the first time since she had entered and smiled at her.

"Thank you."

She smiled back and leant forward, pressing her slightly chapped lips to his own. It was as soothing as anything he knew, and he almost felt guilty that he kind of looked forward to her comfort when he woke panting and covered in sweat at night.

As they broke apart, her eyes drifted downward, and a quizzical look spread over her features. Harry raised his eyebrow in response, and she blushed slightly.

"Where did you find that?" She whispered.

He looked down and truly observed his covering for the first time in the low light of the kitchen. It was a white cotton shirt, but in the dark of the bedroom, he had assumed it covered in some design. Instead, it had a dark red uneven smudge in the bottom left corner and paint stains over most of the rest.

They weren't solid and scabby like on most of the old shirts he'd gotten from his relatives. The shirt was quite possibly the most comfortable he'd ever worn, as though it had seen many years of use, yet was treasured and loved as well. And it smelled deeply of Hermione.

"I… it was poking out from under your bed. I was sweaty and the air was cold… and, it smells like you. I didn't even realize it until right now. It helped. A lot."

Hermione smiled softly at him as he explained. He still got awkward at times when telling her how he felt. It had been an odyssey on her behalf to get him to confess his love, but they were truly happy together. Sometimes she just had to be a little bossy to break him from his old habits of bottling things up and wearing the weight of the world.

"I'm sorry. If it bothers you, I can take it off…"

She placed her fingers over his lips and followed them with a brief kiss. Looking down at her own chest she gently pulled out the fabric of her own night covering.

"Be a little hypocritical of me to ask that, yes?"

Harry looked at the dark red fabric of his old Quidditch jersey. He had gifted it to her years ago and she had confessed a few nights after their first time that she had worn it every night since. That it felt like he was holding her, and it has helped her through some of her worst nightmares since the war.

Hermione stood suddenly and grasped his hands, pulling him up from his chair. With a gentle smile, she clasped her hand in his own properly and turned to lead him from the room. He followed with a gentle wave over the glass, vanishing the remaining milk and cleaning it, before allowing himself to be led back to their bedroom.

He snuggled into Hermione's back and as his arms encircled her, he felt home once more. The nightmare forgotten and the war behind them as it should be. As his body settled into the covers and the soft rise and fall of the torso of the witch in his arms comforted him and worked as well as any lullaby, he found himself troubled by a stray thought. The type that gets in the way and refuses to leave.

"Hermione?"

She merely mumbled an affirmative response, clearly nearly asleep once more.

"Where is this shirt from? It's clearly far too big to be something you bought for yourself."

Hermione rolled over in his embrace and looked up into his eyes. She didn't look offended as he suddenly realized one way his question could be taken, and he was about to blurt out an apology for implying infidelity when she brushed her lips over his own.

"It was my father's." She fingered the fabric, sending pulses through Harry's body as they trailed over his chest. "He would wear it about the house whenever he was doing some DIY thing or cleaning out the garage. My mum spent a good month of her life I'm sure getting various stains out of it over the years."

Her fingers moved lower and came to rest against the reddish stain.

"Then he managed to cut himself on an engine he was rebuilding. This is his blood. Mum refused to clean it after that. But my dad could be stubborn. He refused to throw it away, and I'd just taken up painting as a hobby when they made me choose something other than books to pass the time. I was never any good, but he gave it to me as a smock. Said once there was a little paint mixed in, that mum would never be the wiser.

"The way he smiled at me when he gave it to me. It was like he was passing on a family heirloom. I treasured it, but I let myself be messy. I got paint all over it. But I think my mum has some latent magic because no matter how bad I got it, she always got it clean. The stains remained, but the fabric felt fresh and flexible. And for years it smelled like daddy."

She sniffled softly and Harry pulled her tighter against his chest, trapping her arms between them as she sobbed gently.

"He died a few years back, as you know, and I cried holding that shirt for hours. But it didn't smell like him anymore. It was my shirt now, and it smelt like all the others. It didn't comfort me like it used to. Now you do that for me."

"I'm sorry, Mione. I'll take it off."

Her hands held the shirt firmly and her eyes rose to match his own and despite the tear streaks, she looked happy as she softly shook her head.

"I love you, more than anything in this world, Harry. And I know every day that you feel the same about me. That's what brings me true comfort. And I have this," she indicated his jersey as she snuggled deeper into his arms, "which always makes me feel like I'm wrapped in your arms. That used to be my favourite nightshirt before you gave me this. But…"

Softly stroking her back, Harry waited for her to continue. "What, Hermione?"

She bit her lip as she averted her gaze, clearly a little embarrassed. He remained silent and continued his stroking. He knew she would tell him eventually.

Suddenly her voice broke the night. "It looks good on you."

Harry glanced down and saw her looking up at him again.

"You're about the same height now as he was. And almost the same build. It was big even on him, as he wanted it that way. I like the way it hangs a bit off your shoulder as you move. It's kind of…"

He smiled at her but didn't break the gaze. He knew what she wanted to say, but he still wanted to hear her say it.

She groaned before speaking again. "Kind of sexy."

She tucked her head into his chest again as he chuckled softly and she gave him a tiny slap, her arms too trapped to get any real force behind them.

"Thank you." He whispered as he kissed her hair. "You always make me feel a million galleons, Hermione."

"Keep it, please?"

"For you, anything."

The pair snuggled tightly together, and their breathing soon settled, both on the edge of oblivion.

Harry mumbled, near silent, "I'll treasure it forever."


	2. Hands to Myself

This fic was inspired by the lyrics "_Can't keep my hands to myself, no matter how hard I try to. I want you all to myself, you're metaphorical gin and juice._", from the song, _Hands to Myself_ by _Selena Gomez_. I claim no ownership of it, I only used it as inspiration.

* * *

Harry looked down at the letter, indecision plain on his sweaty face as he read it through again. He thought he had decided on this months ago, but there was something holding him back from going through with it as planned.

Hermione.

She'd stuck with him through thick and thin for the better part of a decade. And while he had happily followed her to Australia as she attempted to restore her parent's memories, he still felt the scales were tipped well and truly in her favour.

Normally he would just talk to her about it, but she had asked for these last few weeks as a chance to reconnect with her parents, and he complied, understanding a lot of how she felt. He'd accepted the few invitations to dinner that her folks had demanded, but they never talked about it during dinner. And the last of those had been over a week ago now.

He crumpled the letter in his fist as he collapsed back on the firm bench, nearly clipping the solid metal bar now above his head as he reclined. In the absence of his usual 'crew', Harry had thrown himself into a task to keep his mind from the rage and guilt he still felt over the war. Over the deaths of friend and family. And of the pain of loss he felt, as some couldn't help but blame him as well.

While he knew they would get over it, it hurt to see the look in the eye of almost every Weasley. That had he ended things sooner, Fred would still be with them. And so he had avoided them where ever possible.

Harry dropped the crumpled letter to the floor and grasped the bar firmly with both hands, letting his mind focus on the task at hand and pushing the feelings to the back. He needed to be clear to make this choice.

His arms burned as he pumped them up and down in steady rhythm, working the no longer scrawny muscles as he raised the barbell. Up and down. Up and down. The mindless repetition of it doing more to clear his thoughts than the activity itself.

And yet, the two options continued to plague him as he worked. To go, or not to go. That was the question he faced.

Ron, he knew, would always fall on the not to go side. He was already helping George get WWW back up and running, and he'd never seemed happier, despite the pain their family was feeling. Harry doubted he could be happier, except if he became the starting keeper for the Cannons.

And he already knew Hermione's opinion. She was going. She was always going to return. It was in her very makeup to go.

And that was the cause of his dilemma. He had promised himself it was too painful, and so he would never set foot in there again. But for her… she'd stuck with him since forever. Could he leave her alone now? Not that she needed his presence, but maybe, he still needed hers.

A heavy metallic ring filled the room as the bar settled once more on the solid frame. Sweat covered his entire body as he stood, relishing in the burn in his overworked muscles.

That's what it came to in the end, wasn't it? Harry bent down and recovered the crumpled parchment, stepping to the nearby bench and grabbing a pen. He quickly scribbled his reply in his usual scrawl and stuffed it into a letter.

He still needed her, and he knew where she would be. So go he would.

ϟ

Hermione was happy.

The war was over.

Her parents were home and had completely forgiven her actions. In fact, she was now closer to them than ever.

She was happily sitting in the Gryffindor common room, studying away for her N.E.W.T.s, something she had thought may never be possible only a few short months earlier.

She'd been made Head Girl, an achievement she had worked towards for so many years, and yet put in jeopardy many times while running about with her friends.

Her eyes flicked up as the portrait swung inwards and an even broader smile spread over her features. Because more than anything else, she was here with her best friend in all the world, Harry Potter. Who was absolutely drenched and cascading water all over the floor as he navigated the empty furnishings.

Hermione shook her head, one benefit the pair gained as Head students was no curfew, but to go flying in the torrential downpour currently caressing the Scottish landscape in the middle of the night was something only Harry would do.

"Filch is going to kill you."

Harry's eyes flicked upwards and he smiled as he noticed her tucked into the corner of her favourite chair.

"He already tried. I'm more concerned with Mrs Norris. Those claws are sharp."

Hermione returned his grin for a moment before covering her book and giving him the evil eye.

"HARRY! You're worse than Sirius sometimes. Use a towel, don't shake yourself dry all over the common room."

He flashed her his usual smirk as he flicked his saturated robe in her general vicinity and grabbed the hem of his soaked shirt, almost shucking the garment in a single move, surprisingly quickly given its state. Hermione would have struggled to separate it from her skin with it that wet. And yet it was that very action that revealed how he achieved such a feat.

Hermione bit her lip as she observed the state of Harry's now naked torso. Toned muscles rippled under flushed skin as he worked back and forth to free his now trapped head from the dripping fabric. Every bit of him looked hard and toned, and Hermione found long suppressed desire swelling again within her chest.

His arms looked like he could lift Hagrid and a quick flick of her eyes south of his belt had her imagining how toned and strong his lower half was now. She felt her face flush as she realized how long she had been staring and that Harry was calling her name.

"Hey, Hermione. A little help?" Came the muffled sound of her friend who had somehow managed to trap one of his thick arms in the head hole of his shirt.

No matter the effect his masculine figure had on her, she would not prevent the loud laughter that burst forth as he struggled.

"Yes, yes. Very funny. Now help me out of it please."

Setting her book aside, she hopped up and quickly found herself standing before her half naked best friend.

At this range, the flickering light of the fire made even the still muscles appear to dance in front of her eyes, and she was once more mesmerized by the sight. Even as wet as he was from the cold rain, she could feel heat radiating off his skin and it was only his voice that allowed her to stop her unconsciously wandering hand before it made contact with the glistening surface of his chest.

"Hermione?" His voice was muffled, but she could hear a little of the old scared eleven-year-old Harry still tucked within him. This more than anything else allowed her to regain herself.

He flinched as her fingers met the skin of his collar, slipping under the tight damp fabric. Her other hand came up and closed about his upper arm and a shot of warmth ran through her as she felt just how hard and large the muscle contained within was, and yet how soft and silky his skin felt.

He shivered at her continued touch and a shudder ran through her own spine as she delicately removed his stuck arm from the opening before reluctantly releasing his skin and grabbing the shirt with both hands, yanking it upward and drawing a yelp from its former occupant.

"Ow. But, thank you."

He hit her again with that grin he was sure the Twins had taught him. The one that made her knees weak and she could only reply with a silent nod as she feared her voice and body might give away too much if she spoke.

He quickly wrapped her in a damp hug, which would normally have been grounds for a severe scolding, given she was wearing her favourite pyjamas and they would now have to be changed before bed. But her bodies reaction to being held in his strong arms overrode her minds need to yell at his mischievous behaviour.

As she relaxed into the warmth of the hug, she noted that her PJs were not the only thing that would need changing tonight before bed, and she flushed even brighter as she realized the desire she had long ago buried in favour of their mission had returned full force. And this time, she didn't have a huge danger hanging over them to help her suppress it once more.

"G'night, Hermione," Harry mumbled, pressing a light kiss to her hairline as he released her.

"…night," she mumbled, near inaudibly, as he stepped around her and she heard him fiddling with the buckle of his belt.

Her cheeks were afire with rushing blood as she stood frozen to the spot. She dare not move until after the sound of footsteps had gone, and she collapsed in place, far too distracted to care what she would look like to anyone who might glance into the room.

"I'm doomed."

ϟ

Harry was in heaven. Or as close as one could physically get to heaven while still on the mortal plane.

He was freshly showered and wearing his most comfortable evening wear, a pair of nice warm flannel pants and a thick green shirt that just screamed comfort to him when he had replaced most of his wardrobe after the war.

Tucked into the corner of one of the large and luxuriously comfy couches by the common room fire, there was only one thing that could have made him happier. And that had plonked itself down between his open thighs a few moments after he had sat down and laid her own pyjama wrapped form against his chest, wiggled a few times to get comfortable, and settled into the book she had brought down with her.

Despite the early hour, and near full common room, no one batted an eye or commented on the Head students habit to cuddle together every evening. It had gone on like clockwork every night for months now, so was hardly newsworthy. Harry relished it for the feeling of his lost childhood. It felt wonderful to have someone so close, so completely content in his presence to just lose themselves completely to their own devices as they sat together.

For the past several months he had been happier and happier, and the cause was his best friend and her constant soothing presence.

It was no surprise to him that she was very free with contact. She was, after all, the first person he could remember to ever hug him. And she had given him so many through their early Hogwarts years, always there with welcoming arms whenever he needed them most in those darker days.

But there was something else to it all now. She would rub against him all the time, be it their arms rubbing as they were walking through the halls, a late night shoulder massage after a rough Quidditch practice. Guiding his hand when practising more complicated movements of some spells. At dinner, she would be so close that their hips would touch and their arms would knock constantly throughout the meal.

With anyone else, Harry was certain it would be irritating, but with Hermione, it felt normal. It felt right. It felt like home.

And that was when it finally clicked for Harry. Even with his reluctance to return this year, he had always told people that Hogwarts was home. The place he felt happy. But realization shifted the term to its rightful place. Hogwarts was never home. Had he ever succeeded in staying there over the holidays, he was sure he'd have noticed it sooner. It wasn't home, but the place where his home resided.

Hermione was his home, his safe place and source of happiness. In the old days, it had been him seeking refuge from his destiny in her arms, but now it was almost always her settling into his. But whichever way they did it, it felt so right.

Harry gave her bushy head a light kiss before allowing his head to loll back. He let his mind wander back over the happy memories of those touches throughout the year. Even when they had visited the Granger's over Christmas break. A time when Harry had expected to feel dejected over the Weasley's continued shunning, he instead felt warmth and happiness. He felt a part of the Granger family as they showed him a traditional muggle Christmas.

All throughout their time there, she had never been more than a step away, and most of their time was spent snuggled together watching Christmas movies or wandering her neighbourhood, arm in arm.

He could probably count on one hand, the number of times they had spent not in some form of contact (outside of those obvious moments) in the past six months.

This thought, however, cast a momentary pall over his happier thoughts. One of those times had been earlier today when Harry had been waiting for Hermione by the Quidditch change rooms. Normally, she would already be waiting for him after a match, but today she had been waylaid by Dennis Creevey and turned the corner chatting away with the mousy boy.

Harry was immediately reminded of his deceased older brother and by extension the rift with his former best friend. But it wasn't the memories that had bothered him the most.

It was Hermione's hand. Resting on young Dennis' shoulder as she comforted him. Anger filled him as he watched her finish her talk with the Gryffindor boy before he nodded and bounded away, smiling to Harry as he passed. The feeling lessened as she turned and caught his eye, giving him that smile he had seen so much of this year and it quieted the burning feeling almost completely. But when she seated her arm in his own, in their normal fashion and headed back to the castle, it vanished altogether.

Harry's eyes shot open as his thoughts analysed the moment again and again. He wasn't angry at Dennis, the boy had done absolutely nothing wrong. He hadn't even touched Hermione.

Harry was jealous.

Jealous that Hermione would touch someone else like that. Be close to them. He searched his memories for other occurrences and soon came to a startling yet, if he was honest with himself, rather obvious conclusion.

He rolled his head forward on his shoulders and noticed Hermione was still curled against his chest, still reading away at the thick tome she had brought for tonight's entertainment. His eyes drank in the sight of her, finally noticing things that had escaped his attention for far too long.

'Hermione?"

"Mmhmm." She replied, not taking her eyes from the book in her dainty hands. The hands that so distracted him right now.

"Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow?"

Neither Head student seemed to notice as the noise level of the common room dropped off precipitously. Every eye in the room had turned to look at the pair resting on the long couch.

Hermione nodded and gave a light affirmative sound, still not deviating from her reading in the slightest. Her eyes moving back and forth over the page and Harry's fingers gently moving through her brown curls the only sign of movement in the entire room.

It was nearly five minutes later when Harry's fingers gave him the momentary warning needed to avoid taking hear prodigiously filled skull to his chin as Hermione's shocked eyes locked onto his own.

"What did you just say?" She asked, her warm brown eyes practically begging him.

Harry smiled at the girl. "Go out with me, Hermione. I love you."

In a move that most would consider impossible, Hermione Granger let a loaned library book fall unprotected to the floor, crumpling several of its delicate pages as she rolled in Harry's arms and pressed her lips to his own. Her arms snaking about his neck as cheers erupted all around the still oblivious pair.

Thirty minutes of heated kissing later, the pair broke apart properly as she sat back on her haunches, while still keeping her hands on Harry's firm chest. The pair continued to look deeply into the other's eyes not caring as people about the room were still exchanging money after their rather public display.

"Really?" Hermione whispered, her hands drifting lightly over Harry's torso.

He smiled that broad smile that was reserved only for her, "like I could keep my hands to myself."

Hermione returned the smile before laying against him and snuggling tightly into his firm form.

"Hmm, me too."


	3. Bet U Wish U Had Me Back

This fic was inspired by the song _Bet U Wish U Had Me Back_ by _Halestorm_. Great band, I highly recommend you go give them a listen. I claim no ownership of it, I only use it for inspiration.

Angst/Romance. Contains mental health issues.

* * *

Ginny hated that stupid bloody alarm clock. It was always ruining the very best dreams. Tonight's had been the memory of that first time with Harry a few days after the final battle. It was everything she had always hoped her first time would be, even if it hadn't actually been her first time. But she knew that anything which came before Harry was irrelevant.

As the last vestiges of sleep left her under the continued assault of the noisy contraption, Ginny noted the tense feeling in her loins and the feel of her smooth wet folds around the fingers of her left hand. She had been so very close when that damn clock ruined everything. And the longer that she lay there, the more the feeling in her belly lessened. Chasing it down now would be either fruitless or take her far too long if she wanted breakfast before class.

She growled as she withdrew her hand and grasping her wand, fired the charm to silence the metallic beast on her side table much more aggressively than was strictly necessary, knocking it off the table to the floor.

She glared at it as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and climbed to her feet. What kind of mother gets her daughter an alarm clock for their seventeenth birthday. One that has proven ridiculously impervious to any spell other than the charm meant to silence it each morning. So what if she had failed to get up on time once or twice, this summer. They'd just ended a horrible war, surely they were entitled to a little extra rest after something like that.

A small smile spread over her lips as she recalled a few of those mornings waking wrapped around the firm body of her lover. Harry hadn't stayed the night many times, but when he did, it had always led to another round of vigorous sex before they rose.

Ginny quickly moved through the dorm, noting that all the other girls had already dressed and left. She swept into the showers and as she washed her tight figure, she felt the flames begin to rise once more. This time recalling how she'd had Harry in the shower at the Burrow the morning of her birthday. She moaned as she let herself fall into the feeling once again, but mastered herself before allowing it to go too far. She was monstrously hungry, so skipping breakfast for a manual orgasm was hardly a wise choice.

She filed away the memories of the greatest summer of her life and quickly finished washing up. After committing to breakfast, it did not take her very long to finish getting herself ready, thanking her genetics for keeping her hair so easy to maintain as it dried in long straight lengths over her shoulders, highlighting her face and leading the eye downward to her athletic figure.

Ginny winked at her reflection before spinning on her heel, grabbing her bag and heading for the Great Hall. It was a buzz of activity as students prepared for the first day back after the Christmas break. Everyone sharing stories of their holidays still as they dined and did their last-minute study. But Ginny's eye was drawn as it ever had been, to the messy black hair at the far end of the Gryffindor table.

Even with his face obscured behind the bushy mass of brown, Ginny could always find her Harry in a crowd. She smirked to herself as the girl pulled back, allowing her to see the smile on his face that she knew was reserved for her. It set the fire in her belly burning brighter than any dream or memory could.

She danced lightly down the aisle, watching as Harry ran his fingers through the brown curls of her friend. She was grateful to Hermione for keeping him alive during their mysterious hunt the year before. Though they would not tell her what it was they were doing beyond that. The elder girl had kept him safe and on track, allowing him to return to her at Hogwarts the previous year, where he had then destroyed the evil Dark Lord in front of everyone.

The very thought made her swell with happiness and a desire to touch him in ways that would certainly have Headmistress McGonagall taking points if they occurred here in the Great Hall, during breakfast. She watched as he nipped the little pieces of fruit from the slender fingers of his best friend. The goofy grin he wore throughout like a light in the darkness of life, warming her soul.

"Harry!" Hermione scolded as she sat opposite the pair, seeing Harry smear a little of the yoghurt on his spoon over her lips as he fed it to Hermione.

"Sorry, love." He apologized before leaning in and licking the lips clean, leading to a short snog in the process, before a throat cleared from the nearby head table and they broke apart.

Ginny smiled internally. She knew Harry's attempts to woo Hermione were a vain attempt to cover the pain he was feeling at their short separation. The brave face he showed to the world so that they would not think him some normal man, subject to the whim of emotion. He was a knight, a king. He was beyond such pitiful things. But she was a queen, and even a king hurt when his queen gave him cause to.

"Knock it off! Trying to eat without throwing up." Came her brother's irritating tone.

"Ron, you really need to get over it. We've been dating for four months now." Hermione chided as she wiped the small spot of yoghurt on her cheek that Harry had missed.

"It's disgusting. This is breakfast, most important meal of the day, so you always tell me. Go find a broom closet if you want to do that."

Ginny giggled at the exchange, drawing the eye of the couple opposite. Hermione gave her the same weak smile she always had since they started back at Hogwarts. It was her cover to keep from admitting she was only helping keep Harry's secret while they took their break. And as with everything the muggleborn did, she gave it her all. No one but Ginny seemed to see the truth.

Harry gave her the forlorn look that he always wore in her presence. It made Ginny smile all the more. He would soon have suffered enough. He knew what he did wrong now and she would soon be ready for him to apologize publicly and to take him back for good. After all, he needed to propose before the school year was out if they were to have their dream wedding between both their birthdays in the coming summer.

"Good morning, Ginny." Hermione's voice sounded off, much as she did when speaking to her closest female friend these days.

"Good morning," she parroted back, allowing the warmth suffusing her to shine through.

Everyone seemed to give her odd looks these days when she did this like they were worried for her. Ginny had no idea why. She knew what she was doing. Harry knew it as well. It was why he had sought comfort in the arms of his best friend, someone who could help him with his charade while not being so foolish as to believe that things might continue. Harry belonged to Ginny Weasley and soon he would be hers once more, ready to make her Ginevra Potter.

Ginny sighed fondly at the thought before working on her breakfast, only half paying attention to her actions as she let her mind drift back over the times in June where they had gotten really heavy. She had always felt sore in the best ways during that month. Harry had been like a beast, a man possessed as he ravished her body. Like he was dying of thirst and she was his life-giving oasis. A never-ending source of nourishment in his desert.

"Ginny!" Hermione called, shaking her shoulder gently and breaking her from her delicious memories. "We're going to be late."

Ginny nodded as she finished the last of her toast and stood. She watched as Harry wrapped his arm around Hermione's waist and, smiling softly in her direction, lead the brunette out of the Great Hall. Ginny found herself wondering as she walked if Harry could resist the memories burning through him as he pretended to court Hermione. How often he would picture her face as he kissed the bookworm. Ginny thought it a touch cruel to lead Hermione on as he was given she would be alone again once she deigned to take Harry back.

Not to mention how much he must be backed up with the obvious lack of sex. Ginny had known how to rile him up in the best ways. A little bickering to light the fire in them both before she would have him against a wall, or on the dining room table. Almost every surface in the Burrow now had a carnal memory attached to it from their summer of wild abandon.

"Ginny!" That same voice called once more, interrupting her thoughts.

She turned to stare at the source of the voice, once more seeing Harry standing with Hermione wrapped around his side, both staring at her with that same concerned look.

"It's Transfiguration now. In here." Hermione pointed at the room the pair were standing in the doorway of, and which she had almost passed by in her absent-minded wandering.

Ginny smiled as she followed them inside, taking her seat beside Luna as she always did in their classes with the Ravenclaws.

ϟ

Ginny watched from across the common room. The pair were once more trying to convince the masses of their little deceit. Hands exploring over and occasionally under the loose clothing. Long kisses in varying locations on their faces and bodies. The light giggling laughter Hermione would give when Harry gave a nip on the tanned skin of her throat.

It made her happy to see how miserable the pair of them were with their little ruse. Ginny often found herself wondering how the rest of them didn't see it for what it truly was. It was plain as the light of day to her. Harry was still sore over their split, even though she knew it was temporary. But being the prominent public figure he was after his very heroic victory over evil, he could hardly be seen to be single at a time like this.

Only she seemed to notice the way the pair turned away from the other during these 'moments of intimacy'. How the light that suffused Harry's gorgeous green eyes never glowed so brightly when he looked at his brown-haired friend as when he had locked eyes with Ginny during their times together. That fire that she stoked in him during those summer months, and the short time in their sixth year, was still present, but it was a bare smoulder in the presence of the other girl.

She was too pliable. Bending to his will with ease and agreement. They would never fight like Ron and Hermione, or Harry and herself. And without that fire, there could be no passion between them. It was clearly evident to anyone who chose to look. Yet none seemed willing. She could only imagine how mundane and boring their sex must be if Hermione could even coax such a reaction out of Harry at all with her plain nature and simple figure.

And then the moment came. Those green eyes she had been watching from afar met her own brown ones from across the room, and she saw that fire once more. Harry was ready at long last. Her smile must have been truly radiant as she stood and swayed her way across the room. She had picked this table to sit at as it gave the best view of the pair as they faked it to the world, but also for the fact it would draw almost every eye in the room as she made her way sexily over to her love. And indeed almost everyone in the room watched as she came to stand by the couch.

"It's good to see you came to your senses, Harry." She smiled brightly as the couple looked up at her, that look of confusion still plain on Hermione's face.

"My senses?" Harry replied, eyeing her with a crooked tilt of his head.

"I know it must have been hard, but you're ready now."

She had chosen her outfits carefully, waiting for this moment. A little extra cleavage bared between the undone buttons of her shirt, the long length of pale skin visible beneath the short skirt. Even the sliver of her belly that became visible if she stretched or leaned too far in any direction. Ginny knew she had a magnificent figure and she was more than happy to show it off.

"I've been keeping this warm and ready for you, you must be starving for it after so long."

The look of confusion seemed to shift from Hermione's face to Harry's as he looked at her baffled, while the brunette seemed to be putting her only real talent to work on the matter at hand. She knew that Ginny was taking back what was rightfully hers and trying to puzzle out a way to keep herself from looking bad when the obvious goes down.

"Tell me," She cooed as she ran her fingers down the open edge of her shirt, directing every eye in range to follow their journey as she revealed even more of her pale freckled chest, "How badly have you craved this in your stubbornness?"

She saw the moment the light clicked on in Harry's mind and he swung to look at the bookworm. The only thing she truly envied Hermione was this. That crazy ability those two had that allowed them to share thoughts with only their eyes. She knew he was asking her advice and it made her a little mad that he was playing hard to get now that he had shown he was ready. After this morning's failure to get there herself, Ginny was in grave need of his attention. She was unsure if they'd even make it out of this room before she would have him inside of her again.

"Ginny," Harry muttered, clearing his throat as he turned back to look at her beautiful brown eyes, "do you really think I have been pining over you for the past five months?"

"Of course" Ginny giggled her reply. "I knew you'd come back to me eventually. We're made for each other." She carefully eased herself down over his lap, pressing her barely covered sex against his crotch as he flicked his eyes to Hermione once more. "Try to tell me you haven't been craving this. You couldn't get enough of it during the summer. And neither could I!"

She bit her lip as she pressed her lithe body against her man. Hermione quickly jumped up from the couch and rushed out the portrait hole, obviously heading off somewhere to soothe her wounds. Ginny knew that no one could get that close to Harry and not be affected. No matter how much they proclaimed to be only friends, he was a fire that burned too hot for you not to get burned when you touched it.

"Ok, Ginny. But not here. Come with me." Harry gave her that same soft smile he had for months, but now it further fuelled the burning desire within.

Ginny nodded and stood once more, allowing her lover to guide her to the portrait hole, everyone watching in silent awe at her masterful seduction, and out into the cool air of the corridor. She found herself lost in his presence. Thighs grinding together as she let him lead her. Harry, after all, knew all the best shortcuts to the most perfect hiding places. She trusted him to take her somewhere special for their first night together in ages.

Though to be honest, she hadn't expected him to take her to the hospital wing. He must want to break in that special bed of his, even though he's avoided using it so far this year. Ginny smiled to herself at the kinky idea of having him there, without bothering with silencing spells or the cloth dividers that usually hid away something the greater public shouldn't be seeing. Not that she was the slightest bit embarrassed at the thought. Let the world watch, they can see how truly perfect we are together.

"Sit here a moment, Ginny," Harry said as she took a seat on his bed.

Harry ducked away around the dividers disappearing into the well-lit depths of the room. Perhaps he'd needed to prepare himself, as he clearly hadn't expected tonight to be the one where he finally came to his senses once more. He was, after all, only a male. They were clearly less intelligent than her own gender.

But that was one of the things she most adored about her Harry, he wasn't as stupid as her brother Ron. He understood how to follow instructions and do as he was told by his lover. Surprise overcame Ginny as she noted another four people walk into view, but she was happy that some of them were there.

"Mummy, daddy. Isn't it lovely? Harry has finally seen the light." She smiled as she greeted her parents.

She couldn't understand why they both had such a grave look on their faces. Or why Madame Pomfrey was there as well standing beside Hermione. They were all eyeing her as if she was dangerous or broken.

"I hope you all plan to clear out before festivities start. I mean, I love you dearly, but I am not overly fond of shagging my fiancé in front of my parents."

Her mother broke out in tears at that and Ginny was beyond confused. Was she not happy that her little girl was back with the man she so dearly loved as though he was her own? When they married she would truly be Harry's mother, as she had so often proclaimed to be. Ginny smiled gently at her parents as Hermione turned and dashed out of view again, a hurt look on her face as she left.

Ginny felt a little bad. She hadn't meant for the other girl to get hurt in all this. When Harry had left after they broke up she had known he would be back. She had only broken things off due to him trying to prevaricate on the matter of their wedding date. She already had the whole thing planned out, but he was acting as if he was unsure. Getting cold feet as they say.

She was further distracted as her mother wrapped her in her arms and sobbed away on her shoulder. Crying out for her baby girl. Ginny returned the hug, wanting to reassure her mother. But mostly she wanted them all gone so that she and Harry could get to things.

ϟ

Hermione sobbed gently into his shoulder as Harry stayed out of the line of sight of the bed that had once been his own in the wing. Ginny had been her closest female friend for years and seeing her like this had broken his fiancé's heart to witness.

"Shhhh," he whispered, running his fingers through her hair. "Madame Pomfrey is the best. She's fixed me up loads of times. And if she can't, I'll make sure she gets the best treatment possible."

"It's just so hard to see. I knew she was a little confused. The talks we've had since you broke up, she truly thinks you were hers. I tried to make her see, and recently I thought she had come to terms with it all."

"I know, Hermione. It's mostly my fault. I was hurting so badly after the battle that I needed something to distract me, and I let Ginny do that. That summer was intense and I can barely remember any of it I was so lost in my own mind and feelings. When things became clear the week before we returned here, I knew I had to break whatever it was we had off. Ginny was telling me how much she was looking forward to our wedding this coming August. But I didn't realize she was so far gone."

Hermione sniffled on his shoulder for several minutes as muffled voices came from the concealed bed. Harry watched Madame Pomfrey place a short floo call before returning to the bed and he could still here Ginny proclaiming how wonderful things were now she and Harry were back together.

"Why do I break everything I touch?" He whispered aloud.

A soft slap to his upper arm drew his gaze to the beautiful chocolate eyes looking up at him. "This is not your fault, Harry. She was never treated after the whole Diary thing. Who knows what Riddle did to her mind. Riddle made that horrible thing decades before you were born and probably gave it to Malfoy before your parents even got together. And her obsession with you was there long before she ever met you. You may have encouraged it once or twice, but you are not responsible."

"Sure feels like it."

"That's your saving people thing." Harry scoffed at the term. Hermione loved prodding him over it. "And you'll do everything in your power to help her get better. So, even if somehow, in some crazy alternate universe, it was your fault, you will be the one to help fix it."

The entwined couple watched as the fire roared and a man and woman in green healer robes stepped out. Madame Pomfrey met them and led them to the bed, where a renewed round of happy comments from Ginny began to emanate.

Harry pulled Hermione tighter to himself as they drew comfort from the other.

"I truly love you, Hermione. I hope you realize that."

"I know. I love you too, Harry. She's in good hands."

"You're right. But then, you're Hermione Granger, and she is always right."

A second slap on the arm brought a small chuckle out of him. "She's in good hands." He echoed, stroking her hair once more. "C'mon, let's go find the others. They will probably want to know what's happening."

Hermione nodded against his chest as the voices from behind the divider faded as they walked away. He still felt guilty for feeding this delusion Ginny had of their continued relationship. But Hermione was right. She was already in the best hands they could find. And if they weren't good enough, he would find someone better. Ginny was, after all, the little sister he never got to have. He loved her as such and would do anything in his power to help her.


End file.
